Prometey
by Alga
Summary: Kyle XY - X-Files crossover. We all know that Tom Foss is a bit...secretive, to put it mildly. Ever wondered why? Krycek in the story with a twist? You bet.
1. Prologue

**PROMETEY**

**Disclamer**: Nope, not mine. If you recognize anything – either those guys who make _Kyle XY _(or _X-Files_)own it…or the muse of cliché does. Everything else, including non-canon characters, is mine, so please ask if you wish to borrow something.

**Author's note**: I realize that not everybody knows Russian, so here is a list of words and expressions used in the text, in order of appearance. (I used English letters cause Cyrillic does act like a pain sometimes.)

Prometey – Prometheus, a Titan from Greek mythology

anguis in herba – literally, _snake in grass_; this isn't Russian of course, but Latin, means _hidden, but deadly danger_

papa – yeah, I know, not exactly Russian-only word… means dad, daddy, not father

mama – you know that one; in Russian it's like mommy, mom, but not mother

priyatel' – buddy, acquaintance, friend

Bozhe – _(Oh) my God_;expression, literally means a word you'd use to address God;

to wish vam udachi na otdihe – to wish you good luck with the holidays (an official form of address is used: _vam_, not _tebe_)

tovarish' – comrade; this form of address is still used in the military in Russia, even though there is no Soviet Union left, and of course, communists prefer it to other forms of address sometimes

Sporim, chto oficialnaya chast razgovora na etom zakonchitsya. – "Otdihai, kopi sili…" – Tochno. …. – "Znau, zvuchit glupo, no postaraisya visipat'sya i est' ne vsyakuyu gadost', a viborochno." – _I bet the official part of this conversation is over now. – "Relax, build up your strength…" – Exactly. …. – I know, it sounds silly, but try to get enough sleep and don't eat junk food, but chose something better to eat instead_." (she uses a friendly, non-official style, visible in word flexions in the original)

Verbena – Vervain; hey, it's not the lady's fault if her parents named her so… _or_ it might be a nickname that stuck for a reason, not gonna tell you now

Elki zelenie… – literally, _Green fir-trees…_; an expression that means something like _damn_

soobshnik ti moi – _oh my accomplice_; a bit teasing

v Souze – in the Union (meaning _Soviet Union_ in this case)

kak govoryat v Odesse …. "Eto dve bol'shie raznici!" – literally _As they say it in Odessa, these are two big differences!_ A humorous expression, means that you understand that there's a problem to fix, and you know it is not like something you've done before, so new methods are needed.

ne s togo boku – informal, literally _from the wrong side_;means that you did not start your speech/action appropriately, made a wrong move

Ah, mama…Kak zhe tebya ne chvataet, osobenno po takim vot den'kam – kogda ni govorit, ni chto-to delat prosto net ni maleishego gelaniya… – Oh, mother, I miss you so much, especially on a day like this one – when I wish to do absolutely nothing…

Sergey – a name, of Latin origin as far as I know

Serezha (and all versions you'll find in the text that display Russian system of inflexions) – a version of Sergey, used if said Sergey is a kid, or if you are his friend/family member, or if you are a stranger that wants to use it without permission to outrage Sergey (because first-name basis in Russia is one thing, but name versions like this one is different: you are not allowed to address strangers like that)

sinok – sonny; a familiar form of address, usually very friendly, used by people who are older while talking to a younger person, usually their own son, but it can be any male, not their child only

nebesa – heaven(s)

"Dorogaya, ya doma!" – "Honey, I am home!"

mamin parfum – mother's perfume; the word _parfum_ said in a humorous manner

vidit Bog – literally, _God sees it_; an expression that means _Good Lord, dear me, _etc.

Malenkaya zhenshina i eshe odna postrashe, i nashi ritsari. – _A little woman and an older one, and our knights. _Pronounced with gentle humor.

**Prologue**

**_Anguis in herba_**

It was supposed to be like a – …, well, like a break. Just an assignment he could do with his eyes shut… to watch over comings and doings of a small business that was probably ambitious for ruling the world, no biggie. Oh, how cliché… Sure. As if spying for his _true _land in Iraq this time and yet _another_ FBI infiltration wasn't enough… It's all about the thing to make his old man proud, and mama, too. Right? Keep telling yourself that, priyatel' – and like mom says, probably you'll repeat it enough times to believe…or want to believe. It's not about the family. At least, not entirely so… Nothing revolves around revenge alone.

But this little break…Ha! As if spies ever go on holiday. Don't worry, be happy, kiss my American ass… Probably she just took pity on him, suspecting what happened to his mama, and knowing full well that papa ended up poisoned…and how he ended up in that way. For the cause… For all of us… Bozhe, he certainly could use a prolonged vacation. But the time-travel aspect… No, he didn't feel good about it. Heck, no. Although it felt good to have two hands to hold a gun with anyway.

…He could still hear Ms. Vervain's voice ring so friendly in his ears: "Take it as a long-overdue vacation, _Thomas_. Of course you could use one. And the main case – we have other people there for now, don't you worry. Once the time is right, we shall drag you back in. So I am pleased to wish vam udachi na otdihe, tovarish' Krycek." – And then she gave him one of her rare motherly smiles that reached her elderly eyes in such a special way… Making the old supervisor look at least fifty years younger. Sporim, chto oficialnaya chast razgovora na etom zakonchitsya. – "Otdihai, kopi sili…" – Tochno. She even took his hands in hers, gently. – "Znau, zvuchit glupo, no postaraisya visipat'sya i est' ne vsyakuyu gadost', a viborochno." And then she did something nobody would've expected dear ol' Verbena to.

She hugged him.

…But, somehow, he knew this embryo was _not_ just a part of the assignment. The proverbial thicker than water subconscious hunch? Maybe. Maybe not. The sheer way it was created, after a million of failures… He started to "work" for Zzyzx when Adam Baylin had yet another attempt about to be reported unsuccessful. What year was it? Elki zelenie… Every time he went by the laboratory wing of Zzyzx, he remembered Erika's face on this particular day, her expression so neutral, blank almost; but her left eyebrow was a bit… off.

Uh-oh, not good. Tom Foss had been paired up together with her often enough before our dear old supervisor decided to stage a nice undercover Zzyzx investigation to know when it's better to duck and cover, before he even turned into one Thomas Foss. Hell, she was Krycek's wife! I'd better… _Hey, Tom. I guess we can come up with something, after all. Nobody has to know. Ah, relax, soobshnik ti moi – I jammed all the cameras down this passage and in the lab section first thing in the morning._ Definitely not good! Yet, he felt a surge of pride for her – really, a bit of training with him, and our little shy Zzyzx lab assistant will be hacking into their boss's computer for the count of three in no time.

…And then she asked him to lock the door and listen. What happened after that, Tom Foss didn't know. Or rather, he didn't remember. And it was useless to ask Erika – neither did she. Right, these memory bleach-out pills both of them took came in handy right _after _whatever impossible feat Erika and he pulled off in the lab. Clearly, chemistry thrived v Souze!

Tom Foss could not care less about whys and hows. Whatever it was, he grew immensely attached to the kid as time tickled by… Time… As far as he was concerned, _they_ never so much as tried to come and retrieve Erika and him. Did he want to make an effort to run away, on his own? You bet. With Erika, of course. The woman would not have it any other way… Problem is, this current little assignment thing was slowly unfolding into something bigger, and far more scarier than it looked like when he just drove in with Erika, his then-fiancée and a promising lab assistant to supposedly work for the same company. Zzyzx could be one rotten piece of cake, but Latnok… Kak govoryat v Odesse, here we face something along the lines of "Eto dve bol'shie raznici!" And what with professor Kern in the background… and – he wouldn't admit it or put into any reports to send home, oh no! – but secret agent Krycek could not quit any more than a quiet, albeit dangerous guard Tom Foss. That last time, when he packed up, and Erika got the car out, they just stood there, in the sun-lit yard in front of the apartment building for a minute, staring at each other. Then they shrugged, heaved a collective sigh, and went home. They _had _to stay.

Earlier on, a possibility, but then there would be no job even partially done. A failure. And if anything, he was a Krycek. The Kryceks do not back off in the first round. Too true, papa didn't, and look where it took him: gallons of water to slow down this blasted venom and a useless antidote, followed by a bonfire and a simple yet elegant urn for the ashes… Now, his son wouldn't leave, with quite some information on his hands and new pieces floating up from the bottom of this soup tin expressively often, strikingly similar to so much of that infamous something that just l-o-o-o-v-e-s to hit the fan too. He simply wouldn't even though, technically, he could and had every right to. Why? Good question. He could shake it off, saying something like "Because I am a Krycek!" as if it explained everything. Which it did… in a way…for the most part… when the inquiring person knew _exactly_ what part of the vast family tradition that came from with the name _Foss_ recited so vigorously.

But probably it was much simpler, you know. The guy _wanted_ to stay. For once, to do something selfish – to be a talented blank space, a nobody with enough Quantico education and military record to get paid nicely, but otherwise a model citizen with a very intelligent wife for a ride. (Oh yes, didn't you expect him to court Erika till the Second Coming, honestly…) To be completely free of the Big Game… Can't really blame him if he wished for some peace and quiet… And don't you dare to tell me you'd've done the right thing and skulked back home like a good boy with a nicely-typed MISSION ACCOMPLISHED report if you were him! Somehow, I seriously doubt it, don't you?

Of course, I tried to get the story outta the man himself when he gave me a chance later on. Probably started it ne s togo boku, with no sugar coating to speak of… My bad. But a round of drinks was not an option, and I had absolutely no desire to ask Mr. Ray to get me something highly efficient, and just as illegal. Heck, no. If all the time I've known members of the Krycek family had not been lost, he'll melt on the sides and spill without illegal substances to encourage him… eventually. When he feels like it. He talked before, just like I did. To each other. Ah, mama… Kak zhe tebya ne chvataet, osobenno po takim vot den'kam – kogda ni govorit, ni chto-to delat prosto net ni maleishego gelaniya… For all I know, he stayed to dig more info on this Latnok group, and for the kid.

He talked to this child in a glass box meters under sea level about everything in life in general and told him bed-time fairy-tales… American, Russian, every kind he remembered from his own childhood, along with the stories papa seemed to pull out of the hat like so many rabbits. If Tom Foss had a son, he would've done that… But his Erika couldn't get pregnant for the third year in a row now. Sad. They wanted children, I know…Whenever there got to be a night shift, he'd bring a tape recorder with him to play music Erika said was good for babies… Mozart, for starters, then some Tchaikovsky. And his personal favorites…and hers, even a couple of _Scorpions_'s songs and what not. Oh, how profoundly scandalized his Eri were when she found out! Flattered, yes, but still… Later, when Erika was already dead for a month or so, he talked that demon of a professor into allowing music breaks for the glazed kid. Not that he got permission; not that he necessarily was refused any…

Sergey – they secretly named the boy so with Erika, for his grandfather, together, for only prisoners go by numbers – Serezha took a fancy to all sorts of music, he smiled this particular shy half-smile whenever the recorder was turned on, and Erika finally called a truce. _But only, Thomas A. Foss, do you hear me, **only** if he likes it!_ Dear Eri, dead and buried… She came with him to check on the kid whenever she got a chance to crawl out of her lab. When this woman sat there, stroking Serezhin glass container, whispering little nothingness to the child in so many languages she knew, he could swear the whole room got a bit warmer, lit by her very presence. And she didn't truly object to his _real_ job. Tom Foss let out a wistful sigh. Guess having an undercover fellow co-worker in the States had its perks. Even if said colleague was not your beloved Erika Krycek, who was he to complain… And if it was her, even better! Mama and papa worked in a duo, too… Then, unexpectedly, Foss got a miracle granted to his little family, and Serezha got a baby sister Sarah, named after Erika's mom. Tom didn't complain.

And then, so fast, there happened to be this bizarre birthday party – their little girl turned five, and he promised to take his family out to a fancy restaurant for a dinner no matter what a whole week ago… It started out as usual. He wished sweet dreams Serezhe, promised to bring – dare he say it? – mom and sis to visit again tomorrow, and left to meet up with Eri and little Sarah. And Krycek never drank, no. But Tom Foss had been suffering a fortnight of rough at work… He got some wine, a beer and a bit of horrid champagne cause his lil' princess turned five, and God knows what else into his system before Erika could even notice, at a seedy bar on the way home… She left the lab earlier that day, to help Sarah get ready… No, Eri, I am fine, really. _ I am not drunk. _Ready for the party, daddy's girl?!

At least, his precious girls were fast asleep when that damned pine jumped out of nowhere into the road when he was driving like mad after that cursed birthday dinner… Why couldn't he crash alone, before the dinner? God, why?! No answer, nebesa colored stupid-blue, or menace-grey. Mute as always. Looks like _his _fatherwas right yet again, and mama, too: _there is_ _no God to start with, sinok, a weakness to seek Him when you're down. Remember, son, all the gods that ever lived, were once human…_ Erika was his deity, Serezha a cherub with Sarah tagging along instead of the Almighty world religions wanted to impose upon him and failed, failed so miserably he could take pity on them if he wished to… No. World religions be hanged, he'd be strong for whatever mortal God he had left instead.

Serezha.

But it still hurt, to see the girls in the street, whenever a woman with a similar haircut and a female child passed by, to hear their laughter in the park when he walked through, to crack something like "Dorogaya, ya doma!" when he dragged his tired body from work to the third floor – only to realize in a second that his apartment was empty, a faint whisper of _her_ carrot perfume still there, lingering at the bed linen, adorning window-sills and door knobs. And if he just shut his swollen eyelids for a moment, there would surely come Sarah, spraying some more of _his _cologne on herself, generously, right before she hopped in the car to celebrate her fifth birthday party… Of course, Sarah stole mamin parfumto show off like all big girls do now and then often enough, so Erika kept it hidden. And they left for the restaurant as soon as he arrived that day, there was no time to make Sarah cologne-free.

…Hopefully, they did not even feel their necks snap with a soft sickening _crack_. Ignorance **is** bliss. No amount of drink made him ignorant enough to forget, though – he saw it all, he remembered the crash resonating under his _skin_, after all these years, he still saw the shattered rear window and the front of their car turning into an accordion in his nightmares… all of it. Yet, he tried sinking deeper and deeper anyway. Scotch? He drank enough to gain Scottish citizenship if he wished to. Vodka? When he had enough of that, coulda swear on his mother's yet-to-get-dug grave that he was as Russian as he claimed to be. Right, way to go, man, real smooth! What would've papa said, had he seen you in this state? Nothing, I bet, but he sure as hell would've dragged your sorry ass outside, took a hose and splashed you with it nicely, no matter the season. Snipers need steady hands and clear minds. Period. And it was a nasty habit, drinking. Papa never approved of it, scratch whatever they think about Russians everywhere in this shiny world, Russia included.

Took him about half a month to feel exceedingly guilty, and another half to feel miserable and pity himself, then… then they finally got fed up with his drunk tardiness and a sickly whiff of alcohol that trailed after the guy who once claimed to be Tom Foss wherever he went. Bumping into people in corridors, a smashed test tube or two… Clearly, that was enough! They threatened to fire him, and, vidit Bog, had it not been for sheer luck and the legendary genetic sixth sense of the Krycek family that whispered _Stop!_ – if not this, he surely would have gotten himself sacked for good. Then it hit home: Serezha. If he gets himself fired, there would be no-one to bring a sound of something besides math tests via computer bleeping to the child… His child. Now that they've done away with Adam, there was nobody else. Sure, he kept in touch with Baylin and all that, in secret… But would they let an exiled ex-boss anywhere near this eight-year old? Not likely. And his gut feeling told Foss one more thing – _do not trust Taylor_. Should discuss it with Adam… So, there was no more drink. Never. Almost eleven years now, and Krycek hadn't a drop, nor did Tom Foss.

Frankly, didn't miss the drink. Not that it didn't hurt all the same when he glanced at his dear girls in that photograph, only he never used alcohol to dull the pain again. Funny, two people did not make it, but a lousy disposable camera did, with all the pictures intact. Tom picked out the first one – with nothing to scream THIS IS _THE_ BIRTHDAY at him whenever he looked at it – just a pic to figure out the camera's working, purchased a day _before_, when they were still with him, _alive_, and came to visit Serezhu and cart the tired dad home from work by the side door, like they used to, avoiding bunker cameras with the grace of ballerinas…

_Malenkaya zhenshina i eshe odna postrashe, i nashi ritsari_, as Sarah put it… Sarah, his life… There was a picture of Serezha, too, and a "family" one, and nobody the wiser. Though he managed to _accidentally _drop a spare girls' photo when he left Zzyzx for good with some change from his jeans pocket years later. Just in case they catch him, before, God-or-whoever forbid, Serezha is safe, and try to break through his memory wards to find something vital – let them focus on his dead wife and daughter instead. It still hurt, no matter how man y copies he had to spare, but hey – Tom Foss had a mission to go on too, and what is a picture if your child, _alive _child, is at stake? Just a piece of glossy paper, no matter who was depicted in it. Tom Foss still had his dead gods to cry for, it was raw, it will stay so. But first thing first.

- _Ten years service to the Company, Tom. Sorry to see you go._

**-******_Time to move on._

_- Is this your forwarding address?_

_- Yeah._

_- Good. The Company likes to keep in touch, especially now with Kern still MIA._

**-******_Well, I'm sure you'll track him down._

**- **_Goes without saying._

He was out the door in no time, a pile of lies a snapshot and a few coins heavier than the day before, on the Zzyzx company corridor floor. Time flicked by in days and seconds… A snapped neck and a freshly enlarged pack of lies later, he could get down to business again. Now, what was this Kyle folder he, um, borrowed from the youth facility about?..

--

So, what do you think?

And feedback, please! You know you want to. This nice little button, on the left…


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclamer**: in prologue.

**Author's note**: I'd like to thank Arthur for help with the script for prologue!

Now, some translating is in order…

Quis illaec est mulier? – Who is this woman? (Latin)

Takih ved' chitat mogno, kak knigu. – literally, _You can read such people like a book_; an open book, a person without secrecy that can be easily interpreted

glaz nametan, tak skazat' – literally, _eye is tacked, to put it so_; a good eye is acquired for something, experienced person

Ona etogo sovsem ne zasluzhila. – She did not deserve any of this ill, it was not her fault.

klavishi pianino – piano keys

Bog i angeli svyatie, kuda katitsya mir? – God and holy angels, where's world going to?

vot uzhe v sotiy raz – for a hundredth time in a row

on bi ne perezhil – he won't be able to survive that

and open up sam v otvet – and open up yourself in response

blin – literally, _pancake_; an expression, means something like _damn_

vzdrognul – gave a start, jumped (because he's been startled)

"Sumasshedshiï! Zachem ti eto sdelal?! Eshe i sestru vtyanul!" – "Crazy boy, why have you done it?! And got your sister mixed up!"

every minute…togo stoila – every minute… was worth it

i chto-to mne podskazivalo, chto posle etogo vistupleniya… – and my gut feeling told me that after this performance…

ottochennie dvizheniya, ritm i graciya – perfect movements, rhythm and grace

making policiyu nravov run for its money – making vice squad run for its money

…cause mame heart attack sovsem ni k chemu, verno? – …cause mom doesn't need a heart attack at all, right?

esli bi otetz bil zhiv – if father had been alive

kotorie on otrashival kak raz dlya etogo vistupleniya i ...– that he were growing long just for this show and...

Lena, Elena, Helen (and all versions of it) – a name, of Greek origin if I am not mistaken

Hel – name of a goddess of the dead and the realm of the dead in Scandinavian myths, related to Elena and Helen; the trick is that some interpretations of these names (and another version, Olga) state it means "holy, saint, God-abiding", while other stress the strength, power, death queen characteristics, and devotion to one's family

draught – British English for _draft_; I am going to stress later on that mother of Tom Foss liked British English… for a reason

Che – Ernesto Che Guevara, a world-famous revolutionary

ya znayu, veselo – I know, I enjoyed it

vdrug – suddenly

tam, za gorizontom – there, beyond the horizon

I would've given everything to have dad laugh svoyu razvedcheskuyu golovu off _–_ I would've given everything to have dad laugh his secret service head off (note: _shpion_ and _razvedchik _differ in Russian: _shpion_ is working for your enemies, while _razvedchik – _for your own country)

ryadom s mamoi – at mom's side

sestrenka – (my) little sister; pronounced affectionately

brat moi – oh my brother; pronounced with a healthy amount of reverence…and irony

sestra moya – oh my sister; pronounced with a healthy amount of reverence…and irony, too

silyas' poborot' neproshennuyu smeshinku – trying hard not to laugh

Bog moi – expression; means (_My) God_

Ne uvlekaïsya. Just one show, miliï. – Don't get carried away. Just one show, dear.

chudo – miracle, wonder

ogonoik – a flower with bright orange petals

doma – at home, back hime

Etomu ego uchila mat'. – This his mother taught him.

On I ne zametil, kak uvleksya rasskazom, i poneslos'… - He didn't even notice that he got caught up in the story and so it went…

Kak ee zovut? Skazhi mne, pozhaluista. – What is her name? Please tell me.

Chego tam, pochti bez akcenta! – Really, with hardly any accent!

Horosho. – O.K.

**Chapter 1**

**_Quis illaec est mulier?_**

Kyle asked him about women. They were in the warehouse again, about to go on this Amanda-quest, though he personally preferred another term – search, _not_ quest. Honestly, this girl was no Holy Grail! No offence, but she just wasn't. Not that he's going to inform the boy about that any time soon. The last thing they need right now is a discussion turning into bloody feud because he, Thomas A. Foss, did not find Amanda Bloom particularly worthy of his charge's time and attention. Just a nice girl, a good girl, a marginally pretty girl. Hell, yes, he _knew _what these girls were like!

Takih ved' chitat mogno, kak knigu. Did not make him love their species any more than he did, or rather, didn't: Krycek came from a long line of men who liked to read books, not women and were extremely picky when it came to their one and only, truly _significant _other. Rain or shine, he would recognize a non-mediocre, non-homely sort of girl from afar… Lots of practice, glaz nametan, tak skazat'… This was no special girl, Tom Foss could bet his life on it, but now she, this little neighbor, was in trouble, and if anything, it was not the girl's fault because she happened to live next door to the Tragers, and played the piano when Serezha chose to drop by… Poor thing, this Amanda. Ona etogo sovsem ne zasluzhila. Caught between the rock and… But oh, how pathetic it was! And – dangerous. He couldn't help swearing, albeit not out loud. Strong fingers that press klavishi pianino, extracting beautiful sounds from them, but no strength in her mind; a nervous, even fiery temper sometimes, but no fire in her soul… Good, lukewarm middle-class American girls. They should be kept safely home, away from the road… With the guys that can understand them without stooping down, _naturally_. Like this what-was-his name… Charley. Ugh, got to talk Sergey out of dating her…later. Preferably soon enough.

But now, as they were brainstorming whys and maybes, the boy suddenly looked up and asked _if he ever met a particularly Special woman in his life, with a capital S_. Bog i angeli svyatie, kuda katitsya mir? The next thing Tom Foss knew, the child would be calling him dad and will insist on introducing his _girlfriend _to the man. When they find her. No that he would particularly mind… At least, the dad part of it. Though he promised himself to stay neutral… away from the kid's life. Safety reasons… But, God, it hurt. Took all his courage and self-control to tell the Tragers that all the boy ever wanted was to be a part of their family; took him even more strength if it is possible not to flinch when they asked him to get _their _son back. Honestly, who were they?! A nice middle-class American family. Vot uzhe v sotiy raz he cursed himself for leaving Serezhu in the forest… Should've taken him home, to his own apartment, then… Then contacted Ms. Verbenu, anything! At least, they did not go to church on Sundays. Thank God for that, on bi ne perezhil… And the more days he spent training Kyle, the stronger a nasty little something reminded of its presence to him.

_Close the distance, to hell with security_, it whispered. _Just let him open up to you and open up sam v otvet!_ Blin, he almost called the boy Serezhei once or twice. Got to be careful. Why worry? Because you _always _have to worry. If Latnok won't strike today, then, surely, will do so tomorrow; if not tomorrow, then next month, or half a year, a decade, a _century_ later! And if against all odds there just won't _be_ any Latnok left to give the kid and himself any more grey hairs, then life, being creative enough to throw something new in their faces and take the front row seats to enjoy the show won't pass an opportunity to do just that…

- Earth to Foss! – A hand waved in distance of two centimeters from his nose. Tom vzdrognul and came back to life from his thinking mode.

- Sorry. Se…so, Kyle. You were saying?

- A girl… Like, one-of-a-kind girl? – And added so quickly it showed the kid was desperate for an answer. – You don't have to say anything, I just thought, everyone met this _special_ one, right, and…

He put a hand over the kid's mouth.

- One-of-a-kind, huh? Now, stop blabbering, will you. Let me think…Special with a capital S… That reminds me…

"Sumasshedshiï! Zachem ti eto sdelal?! Eshe i sestru vtyanul!" – To everyone else, it looked like a proper scolding. Yeah, _what were you thinking…discipline…you are grounded…_and all the necessary_ blah, blah, blah. _But it was worth it. Every minute of their joint performance with Helen to the melody of _Pet Shop Boys _at the assembly of All Saints togo stoila. They had to prepare a small something for the annual talent show, and prepare they did! After all, it was his junior year, and her freshman; i chto-to mne podskazivalo, chto posle etogo vistupleniya… well, let's just say that it cost somebody a lot of butt-kissing to get them both study in that school until there came to be a_ senior_ year for each of them, respectively.

…The boy was holding a, thankfully, unloaded Kalashnikov under one arm and wrapped another round his not-so-innocently-looking sister's slender waist in a rather suggestive manner to the beat of _It's a Sin, _moving in perfect synch, ottochennie dvizheniya, ritm i graciya, lights flashing upon them... Course it looked adulterous! Incest-like, even: a bro an' his lil' sis, for Pete's sake… Hey, it was _supposed_ to look so! Plus, the rehearsal of movements, of every step'n'turn all the year prior, and made it life singing on stage, not your dorky lip-synch song, and let me tell you – if anything, _she _had a beautiful voice, and girls tended to swoon when he spoke.

Oh, the image of it, when all those proper, righteous citizens there in the audience pulled long faces… And the DJ chocked on his gum, forgetting that he was supposed to stop the music in case of anything remotely indecent… But this Krycek lad _did_ look like a realistic epitome of sexy evil pagan god in black jeans and lack of shirt whatsoever, no blame there, and his sister Helen – just the same, a stunning female version, dressed in matching black jeans and leather bra… So who could blame the jockey if he gulped and stared throughout the whole song, poor thing, it's understandable. Clearly, the whole performance _was _a Sinful Special, with a very much capital S. Twice in a row.

…When they left the stage, bodies glued to each other, still kissing on their way like there was no tomorrow, making policiyu nravov run fir its money… It was hard to tell who was more pissed – dear ol' principal Drey, their stunned teachers or the outraged parents and other family members attending the show. As for their own mother, well, in her eyes and smile – covered by righteous middle-class soccer mom anger that twisted her beautiful face into a distorted mask, they could see, was something else – immense, unconditional pride. And love. And – laughter. Of course, she knew about their insane plan, you don't go round groping your sister's ass without advance notification handed out to all parties concerned, and that includes mom, cause mame heart attack sovsem ni k chemu, verno? Esli bi otetz bil zhiv, bet he would've found their show amusing too…

A sudden blaze of wind threw heavy front doors open, swirled long macho hair of the boy kotorie on otrashival kak raz dlya etogo vistupleniya i the girl's perpetually gorgeous disco mane all over the place in a perfect Hollywood hero-sway. They chuckled and embraced tighter for the world to see. Gosh, didn't it feel good to be rebels in the hypocritical world of prissy All Saints High! And when they passed the fuming principal on their triumphant way out, to the parking lot, speechless former special agent and deadly silent head of the violent crimes department, both gentlemen very sullen and very FBI, in tough, mama squeezed him by the left shoulder, Lenu by her right, and pushed "the lovebirds" both quite unceremoniously, through the doorway and out, out of here, before her children could aggravate poor Mr. I-love-squirrels any further, her own hazel eyes ablaze with disciplinary zeal they knew to be fake. And, to the seething principal, with barely covered puritan "pain" in her voice she offered promises of hell for the school law-breakers. Suuuure, no problem there.

– I repeat, sir, I will personally see to it, and these gentlemen will too.

Mom's admirers gave their nods. Sure, _dads. _Keep telling yourself that.

Then she looked up again.

– In the car, back seat! No TV for a month! – Her voice screamed. _I love you both. You're just like your father! _Her glance whispered. As they climbed into the back seat, Che could swear he felt the very same draught that opened the doors for them only a sec ago swirl around again, gently ruffling mom's hair, and Helen's, and his own, a curious sense of _home _to it. And if he just closed his oh-so-Krycekian eyes for a moment, he could pretend that it was papa, and not just a surge of wind. His one and only dad, standing so close in his unsuspicious guy-in-the-crowd attire, smiling at them from behind a tree in that grove at the edge of the school parking lot, sliding into the driver's seat with a mirthful laugh, ready to look back and say: "So, where shall we celebrate your spring show, kids? I know just _the _place if your mother distracts the moneybag dad and the baseball dad to give us escape time…" He squinted at his precious Hel. She let the wind go round her forehead once more, then turned to her brother.

– Yeah, ya znayu, veselo… Those faces… Fucking brilliant! – Her smile vdrug slipped, voice lowering by an octave as Lena concentrated on something way beyond, tam, za gorizontom, as she rested her chin on the driver's seat headpiece. – It was simply WOW, bro… when we were making out on stage, almost got to striptease… Funny. And before you ask, yes, I thought about _him_, too. – She smiled into frayed headpiece, suddenly a bit distant and wistful. – You know, I would've given everything to have dad laugh svoyu razvedcheskuyu golovu off in there, ryadom s mamoi… or on stage, right beside us, hidden by the curtain, don't you?

– Yeah. If only, sestrenka, if only… You know what? I guess I finally made up my mind about this career stuff. That is, when I get outta All Saints…

She turned her face at him, part incredulous, part it's-a-bit-late-for-April's-fool, and part dreadfully happy.

- You don't say, brat moi… No way!

- Yes way, sestra moya. – He flashed her the most charming smart-ass grin he was capable of and whispered seductively, leaning closer to her ear, even though it was kinda hard to master a more or less seductive whisper, cause he were giggling like a hysterical hyena by then. – Lenochka, hrm, the Bu-I mean, the Bur-reau's wait -ting. Can't keep it doing so now, can I?

She just punched him lightly on the shoulder and grinned back, silyas' poborot' neproshennuyu smeshinku.

- K, big brother… probably I'll join you there too in a couple of years.

He wiped away a tear of laugher: "Behold all and sundry! My baby sister's finally growing up and wants to get a badge, awww, I'm _not_ going to cry!"

- Oh, shut up, will you? Mom's looking at us!

…If anything, she was his sister; Bog moi, still is… And sometimes he could swear she understood him better than a twin would. She was priceless. Beautiful, dashing when she wanted to, and always intelligent, mamin spitting image… But, like mom said, "Ne uvlekaïsya. Just one show, miliï. After that, try looking for perfect women _outside_ the house. Hope you'll find some. Udachi!" He looked, and looked, and looked again, getting more and more frustrated by the minute, but, finally, when he was about to give up, the door to Helen's office creaked open, and he did find _the_ one right behind it, loaded with folders and notebooks of records like a mule. Erika Kronova. His future wife.

- O.K. Her name's Erika. She was a colleague of my sister and me, this is how we've met.

That's what he was going to say. Instead, Tom Foss took a weary-looking book with a simple grey cover from the shelf and, carefully, deposited it on the paper-ridden table in front of the boy. Photo album.

- She was one of the most stunning girls I've met in my life. Really, one-of-a-kind. Sounds cliché, I know, but it is _the_ case when you get brain, good looks and a strong soul in one; and peculiar hair color, too – He pointed at the pigtailed chudo in the first picture. – You know, not exactly dark-brown or honey-golden… She got red-headed in summer, what with all the sun… Sometimes I teased her for that – "Ogoniok", which means…

- Flower of fire in Russian, I know. – Interjected Kyle. Then hesitated. – Not sure of the Latin equivalent…

- How? – … First you speak Hungarian without ever learning it, now Russian… But I think I have an explanation for this second one.

- Oh?

- See, Kyle, I probably spoke it around you way back then, when you were in that glass tank in Zzyzx. I… happen to know the language.

- Because you _are_ Russian. – The boy did not ask. He was simply stating it. Well, cards on the table, sir. At least, some of them. Half-truth is no lie… No _detectable _lie, at least. That's what they were taught by elder spies doma, v Souze. You just have to _believe _in what you are saying, and, preferably, fit in a chunk of honest-to-God truth to help yourself on the way. Etomu ego uchila mat'.

- Yeah, I am, Kyle. Born on American soil, but as Russian as any. My parents taught me the language, or, rather, I just absorbed it… like all little kids do. You know, picking it from adults.

A nod. What if he asks…

- And Hungarian?

Good.

- Not my doing, that's for sure… Anyway, Kyle, as I was saying. – He tapped the album, gently. – _The_ woman, one of the most stunning I've ever met, Ogoniok…

They flipped through the pages together. No, the whole thing was just about to show the boy a few pictures, not getting all emotional about old faded photographs! But with a pair of eyes not very much unlike his own looking up to him for comments with such amazing innocence, drinking in every line, every feature of the face in the pictures he held so dear… On i ne zametil, kak uvleksya rasskazom, i poneslos'…

- …And here's she in her high school uniform, waaaay before any adult jobs. See the reddish hair? Right before September 1st, sophomore year. Pretty lady-boss, huh? And this one's from her twenty-second birthday party. Brrr, she's a winter girl – but the party's been warm enough, even though it _was_ in February…

- Foss?

- Yes, Se- kh, Kyle?

- What… – The kid frowned, as if trying to remember something. – Kak ee zovut? Skazhi mne, pozhaluista.

Might as well tell you, kid. You never stop surprising me. With hardly any… Chego tam, pochti bez akcenta! It's beautiful, her name is. So close to my mother's…

- Horosho. Ee zovut Lena. Lenochka. Elena. Helen. Hel. You pick it… My personal little hell of a sister.

Kyle Trager had never seen Tom Foss smile like that.

--

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